


Drawing Down

by misslonelyhearts



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Denerim, M/M, Partnership
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-11
Updated: 2012-04-11
Packaged: 2017-11-03 11:44:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/381011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misslonelyhearts/pseuds/misslonelyhearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>this is one of the first explorations i ever did for NPCs.  it's an old fic, but i still like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drawing Down

“How?  Just _how_ is it going to be okay?  Please, enlighten me.” 

Wade’s voice climbs high, showing his fatigue.  Herren knows he doesn’t mean to wheedle, so it’s an easy thing to ignore.

He pushes the last crate into the wagon, packed in haste like everything else, and refuses to watch his partner sulk.  If he has to hear it, he thinks, at least he can put his head down and focus on the sacks of tools and the remaining merchandise, what can be salvaged and what is beyond economic redemption . . .anything but the petulance contorting Wade’s broad back.

“I only meant it could be worse.  We could be dead, dear.  Would you rather it were _us_ charred to cinders instead of the shop?”

“Don’t be fatuous.”  Wade hugs his elbows.  After a moment, he picks up the Emporium’s cracked sign and tosses it into the back of the wagon. It’s the first thing he’s lifted all day.  Herren shuffles this away with the patience of any other day, any of the thousands of other days where all the artless work falls to him. Wade covers his eyes with a shaking hand, and sags against the wagon with a dramatic groan.

In truth, the fire had been the least of their worries as Denerim crumbled beneath the Archdemon.  Herren stiffens at the pain of it, the injustice.  A hail of scorch and flame, greater than any forge, unnatural. . . _violet_ , of all things.  But, the true face of evil hadn’t been the screaming, flying monstrosity at all. The real horror had been in the way bandits and neighbors alike plundered the Emporium.  Bile surges in his throat.  Yes, they had trembled their rage in the basement, hiding and watching the dust moats trickle from creaking floorboards as their livelihood was carried out, piece by piece.

Herren swallows it all, and draws a line through the memory as if striking it from a ledger.

He sighs, slamming the wagon’s gate into place.  Perhaps a little too roughly.  He tugs out his handkerchief, meaning to wipe some of the day’s infernal grit from his face, and instead goes to Wade.  The master smith, with his honor and his fury and his helplessness knotting every joint. . .lets Herren dab away the soot and tears.

“Come on.  There will be forts and settlements and outposts enough to keep us busy, and fill our purses.”  He pulls Wade’s beard with teasing fingers.  “Let’s get out of here.”

“I suppose a change of scenery has been a long time coming.” Wade mutters, mustache ruffling over a bitter smile.  Then, he flaps his hands at the carnage of the market square. “Maker take this blighted carcass of a city.”

As they clamber into the buckboard a voice calls to them.

“Master smith?  Hold on a moment.”

Herren recognizes Ferdinand, rather _Brother_ Genitivi, as soon as he trots into view from behind the scarred remains of the tavern.  The scholar smiles up at them as he approaches, shielding his eyes from the smoke and the smattering of sunlight, a heavy pouch dangling from one hand.

“I believe this belongs to you.”

Wade takes it with eager fingers, wrestles it open on his lap, and issues an eye-watering squeal of pure joy.  When he pulls out the dragon scales to show Herren, the younger man’s knuckles go white on the reins.  The sodding _scales_ , again.  He snorts and shakes his head.  As if the hero of fucking Ferelden hadn’t been enough of a burden . . .when they still had a shop to run.  But he can’t be mad sitting like this, with everything gone to ash.  He can’t deny the light that this small bit of recovered treasure brings to Wade’s eyes.  At least he’ll have something to look forward to, something to focus on besides the pain in his joints and the loss in his heart.  And, with any luck he’ll let Herren actually _sell_ the armor this time.

“Where did you find them?” He raises an eyebrow at the Brother, and Genitivi runs his fingers over the wrinkled brow, through hair that isn’t there.

“Oh, I liberated them from a fellow I discovered skulking around my cellar door.”

Herren snorts again, and the howling frustration of the Blight finally gives his voice a brittle edge.

“Liberated?  Ha!  I expect he’d have put up a fight to keep what he’d rightfully stolen.”

Genitivi smiles his serene, Chantry smile and shrugs.

“He didn’t mind.  He was dead at the time.”

“Oh.”  Herren blinks, suddenly unsure of exactly how to see the writer, with his sunburned scalp and ink under his too-long nails.  He looks at Wade, but the smith is busy pouring over his reclaimed prize, scrubbing ash away from the iridescent plates.

The Brother and the merchant give each other a look.  Perhaps Genitivi can appreciate what a blessing it is to make Wade happy, in this little way, even as they drive away from the rubble of their lives.

“Well, good journey, my friends.  May Andraste’s grace find you wherever you land.”

With that, the scholar nods and waves them off. 

Herren whickers at the mule, glancing at Wade as he murmurs over the scales, and the wagon grinds its way out of Denerim.


End file.
